False Hope
by Aeriel Cross
Summary: The light that had been his savior was never there at all in the first place.


Title: False Hope

Title: False Hope  
Author: Alexis Sacrifar  
Genre: Angst / romance  
Pairing: GinAizen

Discalimer: I do not own Bleach.  
A.N: Hmm...didn't update for SO LONG because...basically...i'm still on holiday!! Or rather, my mind is! Wow whee...not very productive, am i? I feeling very depressed now...wanna die.

He was the first person that he had ever met ever since he died.

He was there, sitting down in the shadows of the wall, hugging his knees to himself, and watched as snow drifted down to land on the cold, lifeless body before him. He eyed it emotionlessly, and shifted slightly, hearing the sounds of a chain clinking. It reminded him of why he was still here, as he put a hand to his chest, cold fingers encountering links of burning metal that chained him to the body. He gave it a few soft tugs, before letting the chain drop and lowering his head down to rest upon his arms.

_Its freezin' here...___

Snow swirled down around him, dancing happily upon the bitter winds, slowly, gradually concealing the dead body. It was lying facedown in the snow, a pitiful, thin frame under ragged dirty clothes. Pure white snow landed on its silvery hair, outshining the its natural colour. The figure was pale, just like himn, he reckoned, as he flexed his fingers experimentally. Pale as snow - lifeless. Surprisingly, he felt nothing but a deep chasm of emptiness as he stared down upon his own body. Silvery hair fell across that pale face, eyes framed by long, frosty lashes closed, lips lightly parted. He stared, at those delicate features that was his, slightly awed. So he looked like that. It would look, to people passing by, that he was asleep. Of course he was asleep, dreaming peacefully.

It was an eternal, blissful, dreamless sleep.

_That's right...i'm dead now.___

Perhaps he should be shocked at his death, anything. At least feel something. But he didn't,. What was there to feel for anyway? So this was it. He had come to the end of his life. He almost smiled looking down at his own body. He didn't have much a chance of shooting a goal, or acheive something, did he? No. All his dreams had fallen short before he even had a chance at attempting them. But then, he didn't have any dreams at all.

His life was insignificant, he knew. He was born and raised in a poor family, and then, they abandoned him. He knew no love, no happiness. No anger, nor sadness. Feelings were only created with comparison to other feelings, and he had none. People shunned him, cast repulsive glares at him. Many times, he fell down. But then he had stood up again and tottered down the road on unsteady legs. That was how he strolled through the path set before him. There was no aim, no meaning. If his life were a book, it would be blank. And he would be idly flipping through those empty sheets of paper, waiting for when he would come to the end.

When he was alive, he knew nothing but hunger, pain, and the persistent cold. When he was young, he remembered a longing for something. For warmth maybe, as he cried himself to sleep every night. But as time passed, the longing and the hope died away, and he cried no more. It felt as if his tears had all dried up. Then one day, he had been trudging through the snow, wandering aimlessly when he had suddenly blacked out. That was when he died.

_So what now?___

The winds were picking up speed now, and he whimpered, hugging himself tighter in an attempt to keep warm. What came after death? He had expected endless darkness, but he was still here. Why? For what reason? He thought he would be free - he was not. Would he continue to wander the world as he used to when he was alive, an insignificant, pitiful waif? Then whether he was dead or alive, it didn't matter much, did it? There was nothing for him to do except for wait, and he hated it. Hated the chain that tied him down to his former life, his body a shameful reminder of what he had been. He was tired of this game, of this stupid, silly game of waiting for the end without aim. He had enough.

That was when he came.

He heard the footsteps, and expected some uncaring stranger to stroll past, while he shrank further into the shadows. Even if they saw his body, they won't care. That was how life was, his life. People come and people go, in, out, in out, continously. None ever stopped once to momentarily look at him, and none ever left a mark in his heart. He heard those soft footfalls approaching, and waited for them to pass.

_Even in death my life doesn't spare me.___

'Are you alright?'

He glanced up, surprised, into a pair of warm brown eyes gazing down at him, straight into his eyes, speaking of nothing but kindness. It was the first time anyone ever spoke to him, and looked at him properly. He tilted his head up, examining the man before him curiously. Who was this man anyway? And he could see him, too. After he had died, everyone glanced dismissively at his body. Not one had noticed him. The man wore a black hakama, with a badge tied to his left arm, the symbol for '5' etched deeply into its wooden surface. He didn't look like the sort who came from around the area, however, he decided.

'I'm here to bring you away,' the man continued kindly, squatting down before him and drawing his sword by his side with a metallic hiss. 'No, i'm not trying to hurt you...see?' he added hastily as he had flinched at the sight of a naked blade. He watched, as the man took the chain and neatly severed it, severed the link between him and his body.

'What's your name?'

'...Ichimaru Gin.' It was the first time he hard his own voice out loud, and it sounded slightly scratchy.

'Gin, hmm? That's a pretty name...' the man brushed his fingers against a few strands of his silvery hair. 'I'm Aizen Sousuke.'

'...'

'Aizen sighed, and straightened, sheathing his sword again. 'I suppose you had a hard time, here/ A life that knew nothing but misery, but you're free now. You can have two choices - to stay, or to come with me to Soul Society.'

'...' Gin said nothing as Aizen rattled off on his own, staring down intently at his own feet. After some time, Aizen had stopped, reduced to observing him curiously, quietly. Gin kept his silence, letting it stretch. And then, Aizen had extended a hand down to him, waiting. Watching.

'Will you come with me?'

Gin paused, expression unreadable, before slowly reaching out a hand to him.

He could have sworn the man was smirking.

--

'Gin...Gin...'

He slowly opened his eyes, groaning, staring up at the blurry image that was Aizen, who was standing next to his bed straightening his pure white robes, still looking as high and mighty as ever. Arrogant. Gin shifted a little, drawing the covers up around his body, sighing.

'Yea', Aizen-sama?'

'I was just saying that i won't be back till tonight, Gin.'

'Mm.' He drew the covers up over his head, unwilling to look at Aizen as he left the room. He knew why Aizen wouldn't be returning, and possibly only next morning. As the days had passed, he had noticed that Aizen was ignoring him more and more, and eventually, hardly took notice of him at all. At times, Ichimaru himself was convinced that Aizen had forgotten all about him. Each time he looked up at the tall, commanding man standing before the Espardas, he felt his heard bleeding.

Since when had that light in the darkness of his life faded?

Hes tayed in Huenco Mundo, feeling just the same way he had been in his previous life. After a big roundabout, it had come back to this again. How ironic.

The image of Aizen reaching down to him flashed through his mind again, and he smiled bitterly in memory.

'Ya got ya goals, Aizen-sama...an' then, what 'bout me...??'

But his question was left unanswered, the room returning nothing but cold silence.

After all, he had merely been a pawn.

A.N: Don't say a word! Just REVIEW!!


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